


Kinks Shirt

by blerdxlines



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bedroom Sex, Black female reader - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/M, Fetish, Humor, Large Breasts, Nipple Play, Penis In Vagina Sex, Play Fighting, Secrets, fat reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blerdxlines/pseuds/blerdxlines
Summary: Steve loves you. If he didn't-- why else would he let you wear all his loose tank tops to bed? Surely he had no other motivations besides his burning love for you... and his boob fetish.





	Kinks Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> This title is loosely inspired by the song Kinks Shirt by Matt Nathanson.

It was just before bed as you two laid together. Steve sat against the headboard reading, tucked under his comforter like a 1950s sitcom husband and you laid on your side, phone resting just a few inches above your face, waiting to slip from your hands and meet its impending doom.

Steve looked up from his book for a moment, studying you as he shifted to a more reclined position. You seemed to be actively involved with whatever you were doing, probably playing some puzzle game or organizing the shopping list-- things you did every night before bed.

He leaned his head on his hand, thumbing back to his page before you rested your arm above your head revealing the wholeness of your side rolls and the top of your breasts, slightly jiggling as you adjusted your body into a more comfortable position.

You weren't aware of Steve's breast fetish-- you'd only been dating for 3 months, and in that time, you only managed to fuck around probably 5 times due to conflicts in your schedules.

For the most part, Steve has remained fairly indifferent to your breasts, however, after an impromptu night out drinking with Tony and Pepper a few weeks back, you stayed the night at his place and ended up borrowing one of his shirts to sleep in. It was one of his old over sized US Army fatigues that he ended up cutting the sleeves and the neck out to work out in.

Pretty pissed, he scolded you a bit for messing his well organized drawers during your drunkenness-- that was until he saw you with the shirt on, then promptly jacked off to the memory of you in the bathroom while you slept. After that, he slowly started modifying all of his over-sized t-shirts _just in case you wanted to stay the night again._

"Why don't you just buy me some tank tops instead?" You asked one night. But Steve thinks you wearing his old clothes gives them purpose-- and that purpose is showing off your big tits.

" _How can you call yourself a red blooded American if you didn't like tits?_ " Steve thought to himself. " _Soft, luxurious mounds of all different shapes and sizes and a unique bud accenting each--_ " "What are you doing?" You asked, staring dead eyed into your phone, catching him off guard.

"Hm?-- Oh, just reading."

"You haven't flipped pages in a while."

He smiled. "I was pondering something. Does your generation still use that word? Pondering?"

You sighed, "No Steve, we burned all the books of old in 1951 and now we all just communicate telepathically." Steve chuckled, shutting his book.

"But since we're pointing out age differences, you're technically a cradle robber." "--Hey, I don't look a day over 35 and you know it. Now, no more toys. It's time to go to bed." He snatched the phone from your hands to which you promptly reached to grab it back.

"Hey! Give that back." He laughed, holding the phone to his chest before flipping onto his stomach. "Oh my god Steve at least lock it first." You reached underneath the heavy blanket in an attempt to retrieve it.

"I don't know what you're talking about, is there a padlock on it?" He laughed innocently. "Stop it, Steve you're not even that old!" "So you admit it." He bragged, proudly leaning his head on his wrist as he flipped onto his side to face you.

"My phone, Steve?" You laughed. He dug around behind him, before waving the device. "You mean this? Oh-- What's this? Your Google Chrome history?"

You gasped, you had no idea Steve even knew how the internet worked, let alone browser history.

Before you could grab for it he reached over and flipped the light off on the night stand beside him, casting the room in darkness.

"Oh my god-- Steve stop!" You crawled over him, eagerly grabbing for your phone but he was too quick, rolling onto his side and reading aloud from the screen. "BDSM Test Results? Hmmm, that sounds interesting. Maybe we should click on it?" You screamed, grabbing hold of the phone raised above his head, desperately trying to hold onto it as he sat up gaining more leverage on it.

"Alright, alright, I give." He chuckled, and just as he hit the lock button, the phone flew from both your hands, clattering to the floor nearby.

"It just slipped out-- I'm sorry." He sputtered, reaching over and flicking on the lamp.  
The light gleamed on to reveal you straddling his waist, bonnet askew, one heavy breast hanging out the side of your tank top, completely oblivious.

Sweet cheese and rice he loved that shirt.

"There it is." You hopped off the bed and quickly pickied it up, inspecting the screen for damage. Had it not been for your absent mindedness, you might've noticed the redness creeping up Steve's cheeks as you climbed back into bed.

"Not even a super soldier can destroy this thing, huh?" You chuckled, setting your phone on the nightstand beside you before adjusting your breasts back into your shirt. He laughed nervously. "Yeah, I guess not."

You climbed under the comforter, lying on your side before Steve turned off the lamp, spooning in behind you, settling for wrapping an arm arm around your waist. Your stomach rose and fell as you breathed evenly, and his heart raced as his Adam's apple bobbed.

You shifted for a moment, turning over to kiss his forehead and whisper. "Good night, Steve." As you turned back, his hand slipped into your shirt and his fingertips felt electric as they grazed beneath, along your side. "Good night." He whispered, closing his eyes, eager to find some rest from the image of your breasts that wracked ~~no pun intended~~ his thoughts every night you spent together.

Steve felt like a creepy teenager trying to get to second base, but he couldn't help himself. Something about the way your tits looked in his shirts made him wonder if he had some sort of obsession or fetish. " _But, by that logic, we should all have a boob fetish then, right?"_

Suddenly you inhaled sharply, snapping him from his sordid thoughts. "What's wrong?" He whispered. "You're pitching a tent against my ass right now, Steve." He blinked, totally misinterpreting you before he realized and pulled a pillow from behind his head to stuff between you two. You laughed, now fully awake as he stewed in his embarrassment.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh." You chuckled. "It's fine. Happens to the best of us." There was an unusual silence between you two before you suggested. "We could do something about it..." "Just go to sleep. I'll take care of it." He whispered, promptly kicking off the weighty comforter. He didn't realized how hot and bothered he'd gotten under there until he reached down to knead his cock and found himself already semi hard.

"Are you sure you don't want me to...?" He sat up in thought for a moment before ultimately giving in and nudging closer to you, grabbing your hand and guiding it beneath his waistband to his cock. As you began stroking, he kissed across your shoulder.

"Just like that." He sighed, his hand grazed down your arm before he slid into your shirt to begin caressing at your breasts. You let out a quiet gasp, his palms ghosting your pliant nipples as he grinded into your loose grip, eyes straining to make out your form in the dark. Steve began kneading your breasts as you hastened your strokes, your body felt ultra sensitive as he teased at your front with increasing vigor.

"You like playing with my tits?" You cooed to which he exhaled something like a mix between a growl and a "Mhm." His gentle fondling soon escalated to good grips and rough kneading. You whined quietly, your free hand rubbing between your legs to quell the growing tension. "F-Steve, fuck me, please?" He kissed your neck, pulling down your panties and raising your leg into the air so he could spread your lips and slide inside you.

He thrust erratically, pulling you smacking into his hips, gripping your shirt so tight you could hear the fabric ripping down the side. Steve panted through his teeth, his breath hot against your neck as he grunted through every stroke. You trembled, rubbing your clit as Steve fucked in and out of you. You both held your breath-- fervent smacking of flesh filling the room before you grabbed the nearest pillow, screaming into it as you came.

Steve pulled out, cursing as he straddled your waist, scrambling with your shirt before ripping it in its entirety so he could paw at your chest while he finished. "Shit-- I'm gonna cum-- I'm gonna cum on your tits."  
He moaned, hips thrusting into his fist as cum dribbled out of his tip to your breasts and down your stomach. " _ **GOD--**_ bless." He panted, quick to correct himself.

You giggled as he collapsed onto his side, rolling over to flick on the lamp. You laid on your back, shirt ripped entirely up its left side, your breasts decorated with gleams of semen.

"You've never said ‘tits’ a day in your life have you?"

He sighed into a chuckle. "Nope." And you both joined in laughter.

"Do you need a towel?"

"Nah, I'll just use this old t-shirt."

* * *

You came downstairs to find Steve sitting at the kitchen table, his shirt and hair wet with sweat from his morning run.

"Good morning." He tipped his glass of chocolate milk before taking a long sip, sliding an empty glass and the carton across the table toward you. "Why didn't you tell me you had a boob fetish?" He sputtered, coughing up milk he'd inhaled before clutching his chest defensively. "Wh-- I-- it's not _that_ serious-- I mean, they're _great_. But if-- from _my_ perspective, if _everyone_ you know likes boobs, could you _really_ call what I have a _fetish_?"

You scoot your chair in against the table, humming sing-songy as you parted your robe to reveal the tops of your breasts, sporting dark bruises. "This looks sorta like a fetish to me, don't you think?" He swallowed hard, looking away for fear you'd see his blush crawl down his neck. "That's what I thought." You chimed.

You leaned over the table, reaching for the carton, your breasts drooping, threatening to slip from your robe in an almost tantalizing way. He bit his lip, glancing between your breasts and his glass, nerves tickling his stomach as his cool, damp shirt clung to the arch of his back.

"Maybe you should call into work today."

"Yeah?" You met his fiery gaze and smirked, milk slowly filling your glass.

He grabbed the carton from your grasp, gently setting it on the table beside him.

"Yeah."


End file.
